


Pin Me Up; Pin Me Down

by ashtopop



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Deacon's got it baaaaddd, F/M, Humor, Panty Kink, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-17
Updated: 2016-02-17
Packaged: 2018-05-21 05:22:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6039856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashtopop/pseuds/ashtopop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He lived in a state of constant desire any pre-war doctor would find alarming, and he read far too many of Glory’s romance novels to be respectable. He wanted to find the dips of her body with his fingertips, then his lips. She had a silver tongue, and he wanted to tarnish it with his own. He wanted to take her to his mattress and make her smell like them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Wanting her was a full-time occupation.

Red lips wrapped around her Nuka Cola straw, one eyebrow tilted as she looked over a _Tumblers Today_. Picking locks with small, deft fingers teasing tumblers into submission like she’d known the locksmith (and she’d swear she had with wide, guileless eyes, if he asked). Eyes scanning the room for threats as she ducked from cover to cover with equal ease as she slipped between roles—General, Knight, _Charmer_.

She was the embodiment of “what’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?” a pre-war pin-up with smear of dirt on her nose—Rosie the Riveter who knew she could do it, had already done it, and would continue doing it, damn the rest.

He lived in a state of constant desire any pre-war doctor would find alarming, and he read far too many of Glory’s romance novels to be respectable. He wanted to find the dips of her body with his fingertips, then his lips. She had a silver tongue, and he wanted to tarnish it with his own. He wanted to take her to his mattress and make her smell like _them_. 

He’d been taking a catalog of things that made her breath hitch—her thighs rub together. She liked it when he looked down at her over his sunglasses with a smirk. She liked it when he cleaned guns, opened Nuka Cola bottles, and spoke with his hands. He liked it when she paused, little flyaway hairs backlit by the nuclear sunset, and when she lost her temper. He liked it when she talked about the old world and didn’t sound sad.

She was waiting for him to make a move. He knew that. Fuck, he _knew._

He caught her staring at his mouth, her own lip caught between her teeth, and the last time raiders came to call in the middle of the night she was wearing only a t-shirt to bed. _His_ t-shirt, rucked up above bare hips, her fingers smoothing the worn cotton back down around her thighs before climbing to the sniper's den on her roof.

Her panties were _lace_. He’d needed a moment to recover, leaning against the metal wall of her house. Homespun or rags weren’t uncommon, but most people, like himself, went without. _Lace_. It made him wonder if Codsworth had been guarding a hermetically-sealed lingerie vault for 200 years, or if that’d been a pair she’d had with her in 111. It made him wonder what lace felt like. It made him wonder what it would look like on the floor.

Deacon climbed up after her, cigarette clenched between his teeth and pistol clanking on the metal rungs. He ducked between the slow sweep of windmill blades, heading toward the battered school desk she'd reclaimed as gun stand and seat, keeping low to avoid gunfire. She had her knee tucked up to her chest, t-shirt riding high again and the tempting expanse of her thigh lit only by moonlight and the dim lightbulb under the windmill. He swallowed hard, flicking his cigarette off the roof and casting his eyes over the horizon in search of more Raiders. Sanctuary's Minutemen had repelled them with ease, though, wrapping up one final firefight with a laser musket.

"Sorry for waking you, General!" One of them called, waving his hand above his head in apology. She made a nonchalant gesture back, smiling a tired, but happy, smile and popping the unspent shell out of her rifle. She rolled it in the palm of her hand, giving it a secret smile, then turning to give him a coy look through her eyelashes.

"You hate coming up here," she said. The smile was still tucked in the corners of her mouth, but she was trying her best to hide it behind a mask of false concern.

"I hate coming up here," he said, with an air of lackadaisical agreement like she'd just commented on the weather. Her mouth quirked downward and she looked away, crossing her arms against the cool summer breeze making her break into goosebumps.

"What are we doing here?" She asked, her voice quiet, face turned away from him. He wished he hadn't thrown his cigarette overboard so hastily.

"One of life's great mysteries isn't it? Why are we here? I mean, are we the product of some cosmic coincidence? Or is there really a God, watching everything. You know, with a plan for us and stuff. I don't know man, but it keeps me up at night." When he looked back at her at the end of his quoted monologue she was giving him a cutting look. He chuckled in the way he does when he's caught, and rubbed a palm against his scalp. "Oh, you know, just admiring the view."

She hesitated, whatever quip she'd been about to level at him in the dirt like his cigarette butt. Then she shook her head, setting her rifle to the side.

"I want my t-shirt back," he said. She couldn't see his eyes through his sunglasses, but his voice was low, and all double entendre. He could see her every reaction bathed in moonlight, and she ran her tongue over chapped lips.

"Take it from me, then," she said, voice husky. She stood, stepping closer to him, close enough to feel the warmth off skin and heated gaze even behind lenses.

“Whoa now, talking big for someone who stole their favorite hat off a teddy bear," he said, but her nipples were tugging the material into peaks around them, and it was all he could do to keep his eyes off them. He swallowed, shifting his hips to readjust the fit of his pants. She put her hand on his chest. Normally he was a one-man social situation diffuser, but his mouth had gone dry.

"You want to work out a prisoner exchange?" she asked, fingers walking up his chest to settle her hand behind his shoulder.

"Prisoner _release_. I don't have anything of yours." She looked doubtful for a moment, but smiled past it, grin widening at his raised eyebrows. 

"Meet me downstairs in five. We can talk mutually assured destruction" she whipped around, throwing an exaggerated wink over her shoulder. " _And_ release."


	2. Chapter 2

His hands were on her the moment he stepped out of the shadows, swallowing her gasp in the tilt of their lips before he'd even come into the light of the single oil lamp. One hand on her hip, he traced a fingertip from the other along the inside t-shirt seam, skimming her skin just enough to tease. She rubbed her thighs together with a sigh, seeking the friction he denied her and he chuckled. In playful retaliation she snatched the sunglasses off his face, setting them down on her bedside table. He stilled.

"Oh. Is that okay?" She asked, fingers already scrabbling for a hold on the sunglasses so she could give them back.

Instead of letting her, he slid his hands up over her ass, giving it a firm squeeze and hooking his thumbs around the waistband of her panties.

She shimmied her hips and tilted her head back, exposing her neck to the moonlight coming in through holes in the metal siding. He made a trail down her neck with his lips and then his teeth, pulling down her panties agonizingly slowly and savoring the feel of cool silk and delicate lace dragging down the curve of her ass.

Rather than pulling them all the way off her, though, he left them hanging by the scrap between her legs, hand following the cleft of her ass to spread her just a little, fingers tracing the moisture of her. The further he explored, the more she had to lean against him. Not just because he was drawing closer to reach, but because the muscles in her legs fluttered like one stray touch might be enough to knock her over.

When one finger brushed her clit she arched into him, muffling a cry in the fabric at his shoulder. He withdrew with a sly smirk and her body followed his retreat without conscious thought, seeking his warm hand on her. Her knees were still at the edge of the bed where she'd stood to greet him, so she grabbed his belt, falling onto the bed and bringing him with her. He landed on top of her, pinning her in his attempt to catch their fall.

The huff of amusement he released made her follow the sound to its source, leaning up to capture his lips with hers even as her nimble fingers worked to loosen his belt. Her panties were bunched somewhere around her knees, hidden by the mass of him where he kneeled over her. When he withdrew from their kiss, it was to pull off his belt—shucking his jeans as casually as he could manage. He pulled his shirt up over his head, but she moved to follow suit he shook his head.

"I haven't even sent in negotiators yet." He leaned down, slowly dragging his nose against her jaw, his breath heating her skin. His thumbs rolled over her nipples beneath the soft t-shirt fabric and she tensed upward, pushing their bodies closer together. She let out a deep, calming breath.

"Consider it a mark of my... commitment to peace, then," he leaned back, one finger on his chin, considering her proposal.

"How about a compromise?" He said, rolling his hips against her. She gasped and his eyes slid shut. He leaned forward again, covering her body with his. His voice was low in her ear. "You can put it on whenever you want, but _I_ get to take it off."

She was nodding before he finished the sentence. She reached up behind his head, pulling him to her for a kiss.

When he sat up again, his eyes were determined. His hands slid against her midsection, running over her breasts and back down, sliding the t-shirt over her head and tossing it into the corner of the room in one motion. She kicked the panties off her ankles somewhere at the end of the bed, and they were exposed before each other.

Deacon's eyes were fixed on breasts made perfect by low light and intensity of feeling, and hers were on the shining dot of precum at the tip of his cock, breaths from spilling down the shaft and onto her pelvis. She reached down, cupping him in her hand and stroking him tenatively, thumb catching the moisture and bringing it to her mouth. He couldn’t take his eyes off her.

They were well-practiced at communicating in shared looks and signals, the quiet signs of assent and direction. She told him with undulating hips that she wanted him inside her, and he told her with tense fingers on her hip bones and a lipped trail down her abdomen that he had other ideas. Well, she was happy to concede for now—for the sake of international peace, of course.

He parts her with the pads of his thumbs, hands wrapping around the back of her thighs and tugging them over his shoulders. She sighed, hands clenching in her sheets, as he ran his tongue over her too-briefly over her swollen clit and down to her slit. Thighs secure around his head, a vision that would probably have made her laugh if she didn’t want to moan, he pressed one finger into her with little warning. She gasped against the intrusion and he grinned, wiggling his index finger that was sunk in her to the knuckle.

From between her legs, he gauged every reaction like he might pick a mark. She arched off the bed when he added another finger to the slow push of the first, dragging them within her in languid thrusts and curls that she pushed into, seeking more. With a quirk of his brow met with a roll of her eyes, she got it.

He pressed his fingers into her with increasing fervency, bringing his mouth to her clit to massage it in rhythm with his thrusts. She groaned, knuckles white against the fabric she pulled from the bed, and the vibration of his chuckles only added to her high. His hands told truths his voice never did, scars and callouses, broken bones and bloody knuckles—but right then, inside her, they were the most beautiful thing she could imagine. He traced a path around her, paying careful attention to each spot that made her vision spark with pleasure. And then he _pressed_ with the pad of his thumb, the pressure pulling her past the limits of build-up into the realm of deep, satisfying, bone deep orgasm that had her quaking around his continued ministrations.

When he pulled away, he licked his fingers clean, kneeling before her boneless form. His thumbs ran up the seams of her in contemplation, teasing the overstimulated area between them without actually touching. She let her eyes slide shut for a moment.

“Now, I’m thinking _I_ would like a unicorn,” he said, the smile in his voice. Smug bastard.

“I want you inside me,” she said, sucking in a breath. “ _Now_.” She reached up, tugging his shoulders down to her.

“I mean, it’s not a mythical symbol of my chastity and virtue,” he said, reaching down to line himself up, even though his eyes were still on hers. “But it’ll do.” He thrust home. They groaned in unison, hands seeking each other as their lips fought for dominance like sex was just another form of banter. She tugged on his bottom lip with her teeth and he shook his head, gathering her breasts in his hands and laving his tongue against them both. His thrusts stuttered at her reactionary clench, so she did it again—this time on purpose. In retaliation, he thrust hard and deep, filling her.

His rhythm was growing unsteady. It had been a long time for him, though, he supposed, counting the cryogenic sleep significantly longer for her. And even his bountiful imagination hadn’t been comparable to her heat, molten and welcoming and _right there_.

He swirled his finger in a pattern around her clit, fast but light. Her breath caught in her throat and her fingers stilled on his arm. The bomb dropped.

“Deacon!” she ground out, twitching beneath him as she rolled into another orgasm—gentler than the first, but still enough to steal the breath from her lungs and replace it with him. She clenched hard around him, muscles milking his cock. He saw white, balls rising against him, but managing enough of a questioning look that she nodded her assent. Body covering hers, he finished his last staccato thrusts, warm jets of seed sending a tickling pleasure down to the tips of her toes. Still inside her, he collapsed onto his elbows, the only thing keeping his weight off her smaller frame.

Her fingers were in the small, ginger patch of hair below his belly button, idly tracing the whorls as she sank through heady afterglow. He withdrew from her reluctantly. She was twisting to reach something above her head, legs falling open with the stretch, and his eyes drawn to the site of their joining—where a stream of him leaked from her onto the sheets. He swallowed, ignoring the brief flare of life in his cock, and moving up next to her on the bed.

She grabbed a cigarette from the pack on her bedside table, handing it to him between two fingers as she fished for a lighter in the drawer.

“You don’t smoke,” he said, eyebrow tilted. He felt bare, now, without his sunglasses. The moonlight off her skin was too bright, her eyes intense and in-focus even in their sex-induced haze. She lit it for him, tossing the lighter back in the drawer.

“Old world tradition,” she said, eyes soft. Without letting himself think about it he indulged the instinct to wrap his arm around her, where she curled into him. He drew in a breath, making smoke rings in the moonlit room around them. At some point her oil lamp must have guttered, its dark silhouette in the corner.

_All's Quiet, just how we like it_ , the watch’s radio reported down the street. The wasteland was at peace. With her sleepy mumblings against his shoulder as she tugged the blanket up around them… just for the night, Deacon let himself believe he deserved it.

**Author's Note:**

> Preston Garvey has something new for you! It’s a t-shirt, or maybe a phone case, from my redbubble shop here: http://www.redbubble.com/people/ashto/. And it costs money. But hey, at least it isn’t another settlement that needs saving! Also, come see the kid in the fridge at considermehacked on tumblr. Stay tuned for more sin!


End file.
